Love Above All

by Speer, Flora

  “What? Me, harm a lady? Ah, Fionna, surely you know me better than that!” Cadwallon spoke to his mount and rode away from the abbey laughing, while Janet continued to kick and to yell dire imprecations at him.

  “Stop him,” Fionna begged of Quentin.

  “I’d say he has the lady well in hand. The sooner we are gone from here, the better. The explanations your sister wants can wait until we are well away from any spot where we could possibly meet Janet’s bridegroom, or your brothers.”

  “I’ll not argue the point.” Fionna let him boost her into the saddle. She set off after Cadwallon before Quentin was mounted.

  “He won’t hurt her,” Quentin said when he caught up with her.

  “Janet would have left peacefully, if only you had given me a while longer to convince her,” Fionna snapped.

  “I doubt it. My brief acquaintance with your sister suggests she is every bit as spirited as you. I think she’d have stayed there, arguing, until Murdoch arrived. So would Mother Hroswitha have argued. Between them, the delay they created could have involved us in a battle to rescue both of you. I have no desire to terrify defenseless nuns. I’ve even less taste for shedding blood on sacred ground. Given the circumstances, Cadwallon did what he had to do.”

  “I suppose you are right,” Fionna said, conceding the argument. “But I’m not sure Janet will ever forgive Cadwallon.”

  Chapter 10

  Royce was waiting for them just inside the forest, where he had chosen a concealed position that still allowed him a full view of the abbey. He nodded to Quentin and Fionna as they rode up, then turned his attention to Cadwallon and the protesting lady slung over the horse’s neck. He regarded the pair with open amusement.

  “My lady Janet,” Royce said, bowing in the saddle, “what a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  “Make this devil release me at once!” Janet shouted at him.

  “Shall I assume from your undignified position that you left Abercorn unwillingly?” Royce asked.

  “She persisted in using delaying tactics, so I decided to put her over my shoulder,” Cadwallon answered for Janet.

  “In that case, my lady,” Royce said to her, “before Cadwallon sets you down, I will have your word of honor that you won’t run back to the abbey until we have a chance to explain why we rescued you.”

  “She already knows why,” Fionna said. “She just wants to argue the matter for a time.”

  Janet wasn’t paying attention to her sister. Upon hearing Royce’s words she had abruptly stopped yelling and kicking. Now, with one hand clutching Cadwallon’s chainmail-covered knee, she levered herself upward until she could see Royce’s face.

  “Are you saying,” Janet asked him, “that you would trust the word of a mere woman?”

  “Why not?” Royce responded with his most charming smile. “I have often trusted women, and have seldom been disappointed.”

  At that moment Cadwallon shifted in the saddle and Janet’s hand slipped off his knee. With nothing to hold on to, she fell downward again, so her face was once more pressed against the horse’s side. Her next words were therefore somewhat muffled.

  “I give you my word,” Janet said, “that I will listen to what you and my sister have to say. Just get me off this cursed horse!”

  “Put her down, Cadwallon,” Royce ordered.

  Cadwallon caught Janet by the armpits, lifted her till she was almost upright, and then slowly lowered her to the ground. At once Cadwallon dismounted, tossing the reins of both his horse and the spare horse to a nearby squire.

  Janet stood for a moment as if trying to find her balance. Cadwallon took a step toward her, reaching out a hand to catch her elbow and steady her.

  Without warning Janet spun around and landed a solid punch to Cadwallon’s midriff.

  “Ah!” Cadwallon doubled over as if he was hurt. He straightened at once, grinning at the enraged girl. “Is this the way you treat an honest knight who’s trying to save you?”

  “Honest?” Janet yelled. She clenched her fist in preparation for landing another blow. “You brute!”

  “Janet, you gave your word to listen,” Royce admonished her. Mounted as he still was, he spoke from well above Janet’s head, so she was forced to crane her neck and look upward in order to see him.

  “I gave my word to you,” Janet said, unabashed by the criticism, “not to him!”

  “Good God,” Quentin muttered. “Is this unpleasant wench worth the risk of all our lives?”

  “Yes!” Fionna exclaimed. “She is. You don’t know her, Quentin. She’s frightened – by you and Cadwallon, I might add. Janet always resorts to argument when she’s afraid.”

  “I am not afraid!” Janet yelled, turning on her sister. “I am angry. I have been manhandled. You have no reason to mistreat me so!”

  “Shall we send you back to the abbey, you horrid little creature?” Quentin demanded.

  “Here, now,” Cadwallon protested to his friend, turning his head so Janet couldn’t see the way he winked at Quentin. “That’s no way to speak to a defenseless lady.”

  “I am not defenseless!” Janet whirled on Cadwallon with raised fists. He just laughed at her and put up his hands to fend her off.

  Whatever Janet intended to say or do next was interrupted by the arrival of Royce’s man-at-arms, Sir William, who carried a man slung face-down before his saddle.

  “Aha!” Janet exclaimed, catching sight of the pair. “I see this is the way you routinely transport your prisoners.”

  “Janet, my dear,” Fionna cried, “you are not a prisoner.” She had dismounted during Janet’s altercation with Cadwallon and now she went to her sister, to embrace and reassure her. But Janet saw her coming and stepped backward until she collided with Cadwallon’s solid form.

  “My lady, we mean you no harm, and if you continue to pummel me, you will injure your hand,” Cadwallon said in a remarkably mild voice, considering Janet’s belligerent attitude toward him. He looked a bit regretful when Janet quickly moved away from him.

  “I know this man,” Janet said to Royce. She pointed to the fellow whom Sir William had just placed on his feet. “His name is Gwion. He’s not right in his head, but he’s harmless. Out of Christian charity Mother Hroswitha lets him live at the abbey. He earns his keep by cleaning the church and chopping firewood.”

  “He also carries messages,” said Sir William. “I caught him sneaking away into the forest. He had this hidden in his tunic.” Sir William handed a folded parchment to Royce.

  “Do you know what this says?” Royce asked of Gwion.

  “Nay, laird. I canna read a word,” said Gwion in an accent so thick that Royce and Quentin frowned while trying to understand him.

  “Where were you taking this?” Royce asked, holding up the parchment.

  “I can guess,” said Fionna. “That’s what the abbess was doing while she kept me waiting so long to see Janet. I’ll wager that letter contains a word of thanks for a beautiful silver cup,” she added in a sour voice.

  “Mother Hroswitha sent me to Laird Murdoch,” Gwion answered Royce’s question. “Ye ken ‘tis aboot the twa lasses there, and ‘tis verra urgent. I’m to take it at once, wi’ no delays.”

  “I see.” Royce opened the many folds of the parchment. “It’s so badly written I can scarcely read it.”

  “Oh, aye,” Gwion agreed, nodding. “‘Twas written in haste, ye ken. I must take it at once,” he repeated.

  “You won’t get anything more out of him,” Janet explained to Royce. “Gwion is capable of performing the same simple tasks day after day and he does them rather well, but he has trouble remembering anything out of the ordinary. I’m sure Mother Hroswitha told him nothing more than what he has said, that he’s to deliver the letter to Murdoch.”

  “Thank you for the information, Janet. What you’ve just revealed tells me that Gwion has delivered similar missives to your brother in the past.”

  “Then I was right about a connection between Aber
corn and Dungalash,” Fionna said.

  “Just so.” Royce leaned forward in his saddle and spoke slowly and distinctly. “Gwion, I will deliver this to Laird Murdoch. Do you understand?”

  “Oh, aye.” Gwion looked up at him and smiled. “Gwion willna’ have to walk in the forest in the dark, wi’ the wild beasties.”

  “That’s right,” Royce said, smiling back at him. “You may return to Abercorn in the daylight.”

  “Ye won’t lose it? Ye’ll be careful?” Gwion looked anxiously at Royce. “Mother Hroswitha said ‘tis most urgent. I’m to put it into Laird Murdoch’s hands.” He said this as if reciting a lesson to be sure he had learned it correctly.

  “I will not lose it,” Royce said. “I promise you once more, Gwion, I will deliver the message to Laird Murdoch.”

  “Thank ye kindly, good laird. Oh, aye, thank ye kindly. Now Gwion can go home before dark. Aye, that he can.”

  The men gathered around Royce and his friends moved aside at Royce’s signal, opening a path for Gwion. He set off for the abbey, walking slowly down the little hill.

  “You lied to him,” Janet accused Royce. “You took advantage of his ignorance. You have no intention of delivering that letter to Murdoch.”

  “I did not lie, my lady,” Royce told her. “I promised to deliver the message, and so I will. As for the letter, you may have it. Reading it may do you some good, for it explains why Cadwallon was in such rough haste to get you away from Abercorn.” He handed the parchment to Janet.

  “From the look on your face,” Quentin said to Royce, “I gather we ought to move out at once.”

  “Does the note mention Carlisle?” Fionna asked. “I did tell Mother Hroswitha I was expected there, when I needed an excuse for why I couldn’t wait for Janet’s wedding, but needed to see her at once, today.”

  “As a matter of fact, the abbess did warn Murdoch of Lady Ursula’s intention to travel to Carlisle,” Royce said.

  “Then, we’ll have to change our return route,” Fionna said.

  “Why should we?” asked Quentin. “Murdoch isn’t going to receive Mother Hroswitha’s letter. He’ll arrive at Abercorn expecting to take his sister away as planned.”

  “But Mother Hroswitha is certain to tell Colum everything I said to her,” Fionna pointed out.

  “This letter!” Janet exclaimed, interrupting the discussion. She had finished reading and now she brandished the parchment as if it were a weapon. “Mother Hroswitha warns Murdoch to be on guard against a pair of armed knights and a lady claiming to be my sister, who are plotting to remove me from the abbey against her will. To think I trusted that woman! She promises to send Colum after the abductors as soon as he reaches Abercorn, and she insists that Murdoch keep the bloodshed away from the abbey. That is exactly what she says, ‘The bloodshed,’ as if she knows and accepts that people are sure to be killed. Fionna, is this what you guessed would happen, what you were trying to tell me when I wouldn’t listen?” Looking a bit green, Janet turned to her sister.

  “I have reason to believe Mother Hroswitha has received gifts from Murdoch, given to her so she’d consent to the arrangement he wanted. I believe she agreed to keep you at the abbey until Murdoch was ready to marry you off to Colum,” Fionna said. Quickly she explained about the silver cup, and saw Janet’s eyes go wide as she remembered the object. “I couldn’t leave you there, to be Murdoch’s victim, or Colum’s,” Fionna said.

  “And I fought you!” Janet cried.

  “You didn’t know,” Fionna said. “Will you trust me now, and trust these honest men, too, and go with us without further argument, until we have time to stop and tell you what was done to me and what we have learned?”

  “Yes, I will,” Janet said. “But I expect a complete explanation as soon as possible. And I will not ride on the same horse with that man!” she added with a fierce glare for Cadwallon.

  “We have a horse for you,” Quentin said. “If you had only stopped protesting long enough to listen, we’d have told you so.”

  “If we leave quickly, perhaps we can avoid a meeting with Murdoch,” Royce said. “Janet, will you allow Sir William to assist you to mount?”

  “Ah, I am wounded to my very heart!” Cadwallon exclaimed, clapping one large hand over his manly chest. “I was about to offer my assistance to the lady.”

  “You, stay away from me!” Janet shouted at him.

  “Cadwallon, behave yourself,” Royce ordered sternly. With the set face and steady voice befitting a leader, he gave the command to head south.

  But as Royce rode to the front of his troop, Fionna caught a glint of humor in his eyes, and she thought she detected a softening of the harsh lines around his mouth. Perhaps, she thought, Quentin’s hope for his friend was being realized and, with the need for prompt action, Royce was beginning to set aside his long grief and would soon find a new interest in life.

  They rode into the Pentland Hills, moving as quickly as they could. But nightfall came early in mid-October and when darkness made them stop and pitch their tents they weren’t as far south as Quentin and Royce wanted.

  “I have been thinking that we may have missed Murdoch,” Quentin said as they sat around Royce’s table eating a simple evening meal. “Mother Hroswitha must have assumed he was nearby if she sent poor Gwion off on foot to meet him. Perhaps we passed him by without knowing it.”

  “It is odd that we’ve noticed no sign of him,” Royce agreed.

  “As soon as Murdoch speaks to Mother Hroswitha, he’ll come after us,” Fionna said.

  “Which means we’d better move faster tomorrow than we did today,” Cadwallon said, “or else prepare to fight.”

  “No one has bothered to reveal where you are taking me,” Janet put in, sounding greatly annoyed by the lapse.

  “To England,” Royce told her. “To Wortham Castle first. There you and Fionna will have a chance to think without violent distractions, so you can decide what you want to do. You are welcome to remain at Wortham for as long as you please.”

  “England?” Janet exclaimed. “Fionna, you should have told me that at once.”

  “I haven’t had time,” Fionna said. “I’ve been too busy explaining to you how Murdoch and Gillemore tried to kill me, and how Quentin and his friends rescued me and offered to help you.”

  “Ha!” A world of rude contempt lay in Janet’s exclamation. “I don’t want to live in England! Normans live in England!”

  “Your rescuers are Normans,” Quentin pointed out with admirable restraint in the face of Janet’s insult.

  “You will be safe in England,” Royce said.

  “Of course, if you prefer, we can always return you to Abercorn,” Cadwallon offered, “and we’ll drink a cup of wine at your wedding feast.”

  “I didn’t say I want to go back!” Janet cried, fixing Cadwallon with a fierce look. “Despicable man, will you kindly cease harassing me? I haven’t had a moment to think since I first saw Fionna this morning.”

  “You must be tired,” Fionna said kindly. She laid a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Come away to our tent. Tonight, you may sleep without fear.”

  “I slept without fear in the abbey,” Janet retorted, shrugging Fionna’s hand off her shoulder.

  “Only because you were ignorant of what was being planned for you,” Quentin told her with a frown. “Think, you foolish girl! Consider where you’d be tonight, were it not for your sister’s devotion.”

  “Very well, Lord Royce,” Janet said, ignoring Quentin’s remarks. “I will allow you to escort me to England, and I accept your offer of hospitality – but only as a temporary measure. A life in England is a fate just slightly more acceptable to me than a forced marriage to Colum.” Janet rose from the dining table and walked out of the tent.

  “She’s just weary, and still a bit frightened,” Fionna said to the men. “Thank you for every—”

  “I am not afraid!” Janet cried from outside the tent. “Fionna, come and show me where we are to
sleep.”

  Fionna made a deprecating gesture and ventured a smile that included all of the men at the table. Then she quickly followed her sister.

  “I swear, I will strangle that ungrateful wench before we reach Wortham,” Quentin muttered.

  “No, don’t strangle her,” Cadwallon said with a chuckle. “Leave Janet to me.”

  “To you?” Quentin scoffed. “She hates you.”

  “I don’t hate her,” Cadwallon said. “In fact, I admire a spirited woman. Janet needs a strong-willed man to tame her. Besides, I like her freckles.”

  Royce took up the wine pitcher and refilled their cups. Quentin noticed how Royce sat smiling to himself while they discussed the quickest route back to England.

  By the time morning came Janet knew most of the details of Fionna’s adventures, from the moment Murdoch shoved her into Liddel Water until the hour when she reached the entry door to Abercorn. Most of the details, but not everything. Fionna hadn’t told Janet about her intimate moments with Quentin, nor had she mentioned the way Quentin’s very presence quickened her pulse and set her heart aflutter. Those were intensely personal matters and, since she couldn’t see any future with Quentin, she thought it best not to expose her deepest feelings.

  What she attempted to do in her revelations to Janet was convince her sister to be more polite to Quentin and Cadwallon, and more appreciative of their efforts in Janet’s behalf. As the two women left the tent they were sharing, Fionna believed she had succeeded – until she heard Janet whisper an imprecation under her breath. Fionna glanced around, seeking the source of her sister’s irritation.

  Cadwallon stood at the far side of the camp, talking with Braedon. Without a word of explanation Janet left Fionna and stalked across the campsite with fists on hips. Fearing another altercation Fionna started after her.

  “Let her go,” Quentin advised, catching up with Fionna. “Cadwallon claims he can deal with her.”